


Liberation

by trojanrubies



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Drabble, Fem!E, Gen, Not that that makes a difference to anything, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trojanrubies/pseuds/trojanrubies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris – August 1944 </p><p>The world is a cruel place; all the battles and revolutions the city has seen, and Grantaire is here now, so close to salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberation

Paris – August 1944

He wasn’t going to make it, after everything they had been through, the four years of curfews and shootings and fear and he was going to die on the eve of salvation. They had found him out, somehow. None of the resistance, their band of Frenchmen, knew what his mother had been but somehow _they_ knew and in the panic of a city preparing for battle an explosion of anger and fear was almost inevitable.

He sat on the table at the Musian, glad none of the others were there, too busy sending telegrams to the British, too busy cutting German lines and sabotaging trains to remember him, and that was alright. He closed his eyes and let his thumb stroke across the top of the bottle, and he let his thoughts stay to her. Their leader, Enjolras, tall and wild and feminine and desperate. For four years of occupation she had fought for them, for him, and once they were out of this they would live in the France she dreamed of. It was growing closer every night, her dreams of freedom, for a republic, of universal adult suffrage. When he closed his eyes he could see her vision of the future, it was beautiful, perfect, and he wasn’t going to be in it.

With his eyes shut every noise could be them, the German’s, so he tried not to listen. He spared no thoughts for how they knew, no thoughts on how or where he was going to die, he just breathed in and out and drank and thought of her.

He could hear a set of footsteps outside and then the door banged open and he flinched in spite of himself and opened his eyes, not yet quite prepared for death.

But it wasn’t death stood silhouetted against the door; it was _her,_ hair in loose waves, jacket askew eyes shining. She stepped forward towards him and asked, “R what they hell are you doing, don’t you know there’s a war on?”

A burst of laughter escaped his lips, she had no idea, no idea about anything, his genius and she had no clue.

“They’re almost here R, we’re almost free, and you’re drunk before noon.”

“Hum,” he agreed taking a swig of wine, “I’m sorry Athena.” It sounded like he was apologizing for the wine, but it was so, so much more than that. “You should go,” he asked her, needing her to not be here, to not be in danger. She was too much at risk as it was, they all were, she couldn’t be here, not now.

“R, you said you’d come to the train with us, we need every pair of hands we can get, are you coming?” Her tone was kind, but he could hear the righteous fury hidden behind the words, as though it was unthinkable he didn’t jump to her every command. In a way it was.

“I can’t.” he took a deep breath and dropped his gaze to the floor, to her scuffed boots and muddy skirt. “Did I ever tell you about my mother?”

“I really don’t think this is the time to talk about your mother, are you coming or not?” She asked, stepping away towards the door.

“She was Jewish.”

She froze; statues were not so still. He watched the world, the blood, the danger, the image of a dirty yellow star flash behind her eyes and in the sudden shocking quiet he heard her whisper, “no.” Her mouth was slack and her eyes found his.

“I’m so sorry, they’re coming for me, I don’t know how they found out.”

“Run,” she implored, “run now R.” She stepped back towards him, stood between his legs and plucked the bottle from his hands, placing it out of his reach. “Run, please.”

“It’s too late.” He looked up into her eyes and, for the first time, he saw something like fear there, something like despair. “You need to go Athena,” he repeated, conscious of the closeness, their breath mingling in the space between their bodies. In his dreams she would implore him to go with her, she would hold him close and kiss him and run her hands through his hair, and they would escape to the South and they would live. But reality was so much worse, so much better than that. She would never be so foolhardy.

“Alright,” and she took a shallow breath and stayed in his space for a moment, as though she was trying to compose thoughts that she had never had reason to compose before.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said before she could speak, and she stepped away from him, with the steel, the fire back in her eyes, repeated a thousand fold. His loss would be enough for her to win and so he smiled. “Go get ‘em E.”

She left without a word.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so so sorry. very extremely sorry. You know sometimes you get an idea and you have to write it down? Also this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.


End file.
